


Jellied Eels

by honeyedflesh



Series: A Servant Amongst Humans [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, also this is another sad fest but at least no one dies, if it does tho please tell me, o theres a lil bit of a slur in here but its not the f slur so it probably wont be needin a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 19:57:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15150701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyedflesh/pseuds/honeyedflesh
Summary: “We-We have to go. We- I...I will explain once we leave. Please, Lydia.” Wallace was pleading, and Lydia wondered what was going on inside his head. Dark, rolling waves of phantom footsteps and yells of his name, The Void watching with two black eyes and a curled, twisted grin. She stepped back, tried to wriggle free from his grip, but he maintained a tight hold.“Wallace, you’re hurting me. What is- you’re scari- what is happening?”In which Wallace warns Lydia before the killing occurs.





	Jellied Eels

**Author's Note:**

> ohboy ohboy here's another fic set in the same universe as sweet tea (think of this as like....extended bonus lore igg)  
> this'll be like a multichaptered fic but i wanted to get the first chapter up today because uuuuuh i stayed up till like 3 to finish writing it
> 
> i still love wallace with all my heart

“We are going to die.” Wallace gasped, as if he had been holding in a breath for a period too long, and took Lydia by the elbow. She whipped around to face him, the smile on her face from moments earlier turning into a confused eyebrow raise.

“Well, of course, someday we will, love. Are you okay?” Wallace growled- at the pet-name or at the fact she did not suddenly understand his meaning. He tugged her away from the pubs door, the mid-noon sun sending bright light through the stained glass window, diamonds of blue and red dyeing her skin and uniform. She went with him, mostly to humour him, but also due to the fact that his stare was becoming painful.

“No, I am not okay. The second we step out that door,” He pointed at the door, his hand shaking wildly. Lydia noticed that the hand still clutched to her elbow was shaking too. She shuddered under the seriousness of Wallace’s composure, “We will die.”

“Who? What? _Why?_ ,” She let out a bark of laughter, uncomfortable however unforced, “Wallace, what has got _into_ you? You are as bloody paranoid as that Lord Regent.” She wrenched away from his grasp, momentarily bringing her other hand to rub at the bruise he had surely left, however she was grabbed quite hurriedly by the shoulders by the man. He shook her, fear and panic suddenly flaring up his dark eyes and Lydia had never seen them so white.

“We-We have to go. We- I...I will explain once we leave. _Please_ , Lydia.” Wallace was pleading, and Lydia wondered what was going on inside his head. Dark, rolling waves of phantom footsteps and yells of his name, The Void watching with two black eyes and a curled, twisted grin. She stepped back, tried to wriggle free from his grip, but he maintained a tight hold.

“Wallace, you’re hurting me. What is- you’re scari- what is _happening?_ ”

Wallace was dragging her now, towards the front door to the pub, where he had heard subtle, simple footsteps and perhaps the deflated sigh of a red-headed girl, and pulled her quite literally through the streets.

He could hear the shouting coming from the yard, not that of screams, but his own master yelling for him.

_That...That coward. How dare he?_

He stopped in place for a moment, and Lydia looked up at him with the same terror on her face and suddenly she was all ears to anything Wallace had to say. The yell was cracked, hoarse. It reminded Wallace of the nights when Treavor had returned home from the Golden Cat, or some other, shoddier establishment, and had to be carried to his bed chambers. The shout sounded painful, horrified at himself for what he had done, and in a desperate need of a drink and a long, peaceful sleep. Though Treavor would be getting neither of these things any time soon, Wallace supposed, so he dismissed the yell for the first time in his life with a shake of a heavy head and a stumble forward.

He had no idea where to go, he had no idea where to take Lydia either. He thought, perhaps, Cecelia would be out here, just waiting, or milling about aimlessly. But he didn’t see her, he could barely see anything his mind was reeling with thoughts and theories and he didn’t realise that Lydia was no longer in his hands until he was being tugged on gently.

“What ever is the matter, Mr Wallace?” Cecelia. She was stood in front of him, one hand so carefully placed on his tweed jacket, so careful in fact that he was sure there was no change in the fabrics ripples and curves.

“We are going to die, Cecelia. That’s what! Where in the Outsider’s name is Lydia?” He spun around, once, twice, desperate to find the maid he had dragged out of the Hound Pits. Cecelia clutched onto his arm suddenly, forcing him to a stop, and Wallace had no time to scold her for such brazen acts before she was dragging him up a set of stairs and into an abandoned apartment, tucked away from prying eyes and constant ears.

He was ushered onto a seat with a back, something he hadn’t expected to feel so comforting, but he almost melted against the call of gravity. The thick, heavy strain on his mind was dipping him into the Void then pulling him back out again. The sensation torturous.

Someone was pulling at his jacket, and a warm hand was against his cheek and he almost mumbled something about Treavor before he jolted at the light, but fast, slap that graced his cheekbone. He was shocked back into the living by Lydia grinning at him, patting his cheek once before standing up and pacing in front of him, Cecelia by her side.

“Well, if you would kindly like to explain exactly why we have found ourselves holed up in here, then now is the time todo it!” Lydia cried, hysterical, her voice daring to raise behind the comfort of the steel door and the barred windows. Wallace gulped, his throat clicking audibly, before he straightened his back and blinked heavily to force the stars in his vision away.

“All right, I’ll explain,”

“Please do.”

“I’m just about to! Right, well, perhaps two days ago, my memory is perhaps foggy on the exact date of the eve-”

“ _We get it._ ”

“For fucks sake, woman! A-As I was saying, I was sweeping in the hallway outside Milord’s room, and the door to the Admiral’s chambers was ajar somewhat, so I was able to hear what they were discussing. They...oh, Hell...they wanted to get rid of any ‘Loose ends’, particularly the three of us, the Boatman, Master Joplin and Sokolov, and I would assume Callista as well, through I also assume that her ties to Captain Curnow and therefore to the Admiral would keep her safe from such...such ends.” The two women in front of him remained motionless, and for a second Wallace thought that they had phased out of the conversation completely, lost in their own little worlds. But then, Cecelia choked out a cry, covering her mouth with a fist before she had the time to truly mourn.

Lydia stood for longer, staring dangerously out into space, but then her face contorted into something Wallace couldn’t describe, and she stepped away from him, her arms crossing over her chest to itch at her arms- _just like Treavor. Oh, Lord. Treavor, my love, what have you done?_

“So, they would just...kill us? Just, Just throw us out? I’ve worked with Havelock for years, as has Cecelia, Callista as well. And you, well, you and The Lord Pendleton must have known one another for _decades_.” Lydia rambled, her voice tight and scratchy, like an audiograph damaged by water. Wallace’s brain felt the same, the same memories repeating and repeating, his own breath caught in his throat. He had known Treavor for decades, hadn’t he? He had been there when the Lord was born, and he was there to mend every bruise, bump, and broken bone the Lord had been graced with. Wallace had been good. He had been loyal. Why couldn’t his Treavor be loyal to him as well?

Of course, that was a thought dangerous and too far above for him to even dream of. He should never have gotten so wrapped around his Master’s little finger, for now he was paying the price of believing he was at the same level of his Lord. He was nothing more than a peasant, a servant, one meant to be cast aside after his uses had been spent. And now, Treavor would require no manservant who was growing old. He would have all the power in the World at his fingertips serving as Prime Minister, and not even decades, lifetimes, of care and loyalty and- Outsider Forbid he even mention it aloud- _friendship_ , could break the sugar sweet caress of power.

Cecelia broke him from his ruminations with a soft sniff, before she turned and sped quickly down through the apartment, into another room shadowed in darkness, leaving Lydia and Wallace to the main hallway.

“Where’s she off to?” Lydia asked, looking behind her over a shoulder, arms still clung tight around herself. Wallace didn’t reply, he could hear the yelling again, frantic and coming close before slipping away. He dared his stomach not to eject what little food lay within it at the sound of gunfire, and he desperately hoped that no one was at the other end, that all it was was a shot to stir a reaction- to leap from hiding only to be mown down by the same flintlock. He wasn’t going to admit his own fear, but his eyes had been glazed over for the better part of the hour, and Lydia was beginning to nervously pace up and down the hall, searching each room and peeking into the stairwell that Cecelia had left to.

“Perhaps, we should go check on her.” Wallace mumbled darkly after a moment, and Lydia nodded, starting off down the stairs as Wallace remained seated for a second, his head still spinning from the yelling outside. He wondered what Treavor would think, what Treavor would be saying to the other two. He pondered the fates of Samuel, and Sokolov, and Piero, and Callista, and Lady Emily. In respect for those who may have become corpses by now, he kissed the arc-and-fork pendant around his neck and clutched it in a large palm, pressing his forehead down against the calloused knuckles, before blinking tears from his eyes and getting up, using the shelf by his side for comfort.

He gently checked the door, sure it was locked, but just for extra safety he pulled a chair in front of the handle. They were sure to give up in a moment, he had decided, and forced himself not to imagine Treavor’s face, the expression unreadable, perhaps he would be angry? Or sympathetic? Or terrified? A mixture of all three was what Wallace’s mind pieced together, though he knew Treavor’s sympathy was lacking in many ways, so he could banish that one if he weren’t so stuck on Treavor’s care for him, somewhere down in his blackened lungs and heart.

 _My Dear Wallace_.

His throat clicked again at the voice in his head, soft and so close to Treavor’s, but he shook it away and went to follow Lydia and Cecelia, down the creaking steps into another hallway, two doors and both women trying desperately to open the one with the thick, clamped shut barrier.

“Wallace! Do help us, would you?” Lydia almost gasped, her hands falling away from the barrier with a crack as Cecelia kept her fingers glued tight under the rim, pulling with all her motivated anger and strength. Wallace stood at the bottom of the steps, a hand placed delicately on top of the bannister. He looked in the direction of the other door, looking practically through it, hoping that it led somewhere safer, somewhere sweeter. Somewhere where his brain didn’t have to struggle to comprehend all he has lived for, to add to the pile of things his brain struggled to understand. He looked back at Lydia and Cecelia, and felt hot lashes of sweat drip down his back at just exactly what they were doing. He pushed the thought away.

“What about that door?” He pointed in the direction of the door, and Cecelia sat back on her haunches, looking over at it as if she had just noticed it, before slipping back down onto her knees and began pulling.

“I’ve no clue where it leads, Mr Wallace. I have never thought to check.” Wallace scoffed at Cecelia’s tone. She sounded as though she were talking to a friend, or someone close to that nature, and not someone above her- by a millisecond, Wallace, don’t think so highly of yourself for god’s sake, man.

“And why _not_?” He asked, accusingly, roughly. Lydia pressed a hand harsh against his forearm, a warning rising wildly in her eyes. Wallace lowered his shoulders again, and instead walked over to the door at the end of the hall.

The door clicked open and Wallace felt the warm, pungent smell of excrement and whatever hellish creatures lay within Dunwall’s sewer system. He closed the door again, sighed heavily against the dirty wood, and turned back to the two others.

“It’s unlocked, however I am saddened to state that it seems to go through to the sewer system.” Lydia brightened, and stepped forward quite confidently, whilst Cecelia remained on her haunches, looking at the pair of them with hands on her thighs.

“Well, let’s get right on our way then, love. Cecelia?” Lydia looked over her shoulder expectantly, but Cecelia dropped her head, her hands itching against the fabric of her trousers, itching to return to the metal barrier in front of her.

“I don’t know my way around the sewers, Miss Lydia. And, I’m assuming, Mr Wallace does not know his way around them either. I believe it best that we stay here,” Her voice dropped when she realised that all eyes were on her, “C-Cultivate a better plan...and then...leave.” Wallace looked to the sky, holding tightly to the lapels of his jacket, and let out a long, heavy sigh. Lydia knocked the sigh to a stuttering stop when she whacked the back of her hand roughly against his gut.

“I...am nervous to stay here any longer, though you are right...I don’t know my way around the sewers either…” She waited for a long moment, as did the rest of them, before they all wordlessly slipped back up the stairs into the main room.

Almost two hours later, the ground began to shake, and the haunting sound of a tallboy’s metal and whale oil mechanics screeched into life, bringing a long, cold whimper from Cecelia’s throat and Wallace felt the same cold sensation dart down his spine.

“I’ve never heard them so close…” Lydia mumbled, rubbing her arms from where she sat on the ground, both arms wrapped around a knee, which was brought up close to her face.

“What do you think they’re doing here?” Cecelia whispered, barely a noise from her lips, but both Lydia and Wallace made a noise of acknowledgement as they looked to one another.

“Looking for us, I’d presume.” Lydia said as she stood and made her way over to the window in the front room, peeling back the curtains a tiny amount to look out past the dirty glass. Sure enough, a tallboy had begun patrolling the front of the pub, with three guardsmen also surrounding the entryway.

“Why would they be looking for _us_ specifically? We are mere servants.” Wallace whispered, not daring to let his voice be louder. He knew little of modern technologies, but he did know of Corvo’s audio enhancer in his mask, and if Piero could create such innovative technology in a dirty metal hanger, then what was Sokolov and the whole of the Government’s money backing his inventions capable of creating?

“I don’t know, Wallace,” Lydia sighed, stepping away from the window to look around the room, desperate to find something to do, rather than staying here and waiting for their deaths to come about, “I’m just...trying to think why they could be there.”

At that, Wallace went to say something, but was cut off by Cecelia, who was now peeking out behind the curtains,

“They may be looking for Corvo. Admiral Havelock is the Lord Regent now, that’s, that’s what the radio announcer said, so...he must know Corvo could return.”

“Corvo’s _gone_ , girl. Why would he come back?” Wallace replied, one eyebrow raised in a scathing manner.

“Wallace, for Outsider’s sake will you just stop and listen to Cecelia for once.” Lydia hissed, grabbing him roughly by the arm. Wallace ripped it away, and looked down at her, anger piercing his gaze.

“I’m being realistic here, Miss Brooklaine. If you could rattle your brains awake a moment and look around, we’re not exactly requiring niceties and daft theories!”

“Fuck off, _Mr Higgins_ , you and your ‘realism’ both.”

“How dare you, woman!”

“How dare I? How dare you! You pompous pansy of a man!”

“I’ll have you-!”

They had been getting louder and louder during their squabble, until Cecelia, watching on with dawning horror, shoved a hand over each of their mouths and shushed them. Lydia swatted the palm away, though her composure relaxed and she apologised. Wallace, however, smacked Cecelia’s hand- enough to bruise, or at least redden the skin for some amount of time- and stormed back through to the hallway.

His face felt hot and flushed, and he rubbed a hand against his cheek to try and cool it down. He sat down, stood back up, sat back down again. His other hand fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. Lydia’s words kept sweeping through his mind, as fast as he could sit and stand back up again, they had came out so easily, as if that was what she had been dying to call him all the while they had been working together. He felt tears sting the sides of his eyes and blinked them away.

Was it that obvious? He begged himself not to look back at the months spent in the Hound Pits Pub, with his thick, posh accent better suited to a nobleman than himself, and his constant care and worry of another man far, far above his situation.

He let his mind wander in the staleness that had now found its way into the hallway, with the noise of the tallboy’s becoming an almost calming hum, in some primal way deep in his gut, like a blood oxen’s calls being awkwardly soothing but only when far off. He slipped back into memories of the Manor, with Treavor by his side, careful and caring in his own way, draping himself almost fully into Wallace’s lap after drinking one too many. Wallace’s laughs felt alien in his mind, he hadn’t smiled in a very, very long time.

In the loneliness, he forced one onto his lips, just to remember what it felt like. It creased the sides of his eyes and hurt the cracked and bitten skin on his lips. His hand quickly flung to his mouth, rubbing away the remnants of something he used to do so liberally, around someone he trusted so vitally.

But that lifeline had been cut, quite viciously it looked like, and he had no idea where Treavor was. Which, for him, was not unusual. Days like this were more often than not nights back at the Manor, when he was left waiting for Treavor to return from whichever debauched brothel he had left for, feeling as if his heart was going to jump from his mouth- _He has me. Why does he feel the need to soothe his aches and pains with those of the fairer sex. I could do that. I have done that_ \- and waiting ever patiently in the lobby at god knows what hour for him to stumble through the door.

His thoughts were cut abruptly at another stumble through another door, and he jumped up to warn Lydia and Cecelia, shaking and shuddering in his jacket, only for them to be racing out of the room at the same time. Lydia had grabbed a plank of wood, and Cecelia had a bottle grabbed by the neck in her small hand. She handed one to Wallace who took it in a shaky fist, feeling so awkwardly out of place.

“The door to the sewers.” Lydia mumbled, and Wallace nodded, before the trio set off silently to find whatever had intruded their safe haven. He prayed it wasn’t one of Slackjaw’s thugs, or a weeper, or, Void Below, a City Watch guard. His hand tightened around the slim bottle neck at the thought.

The basement was so close, and Wallace was crouched with the others as Lydia, at the front, leaned around the corner of the stairs to look out towards the sewer door. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight. Wallace almost cried when she dropped the plank of wood out of shock. What was it? The Outsider himself? A huge, unworldly monster deep from the depths of the sewers? He waited with bated breath as she stood up and-

“Corvo! Oh, love!” She raced forward, almost looking as if she was going to tackle Corvo in a hug, but she stopped at the almost physical barrier of shocking miasma that surrounding the black clad man, and then her eyes found their way to the blood on his cloak, and the neon green phlegm from a River Krust currently burning a hole through the cloth on his shoulder.

“Oh, hello.” Corvo said as he took off his mask, the still glowing mark on the back of his hand dappled with mud- Wallace almost touched the Overseer’s pendant on his throat at how much he _wished_ it was just mud- and blood, “Cecelia. Wallace.” He nodded his head towards them as they each stood up.

“Wh-What- We- Well, we all thought you were dead.” Lydia began.

“Or that you had deserted us.” Wallace continued.

“Although I was sure you had survived.” Cecelia finished.

Corvo stood for a moment, as if stunned silent by the barrage of information he was just force fed. He waited, before rubbing off the back of his hand on the front of his shirt and started walking forward.

“Were you going to hit me?” He asked Lydia as he walked, now passing them on the stairs, Lydia and the other two catching up. She chuckled lightly, pressing Corvo’s shoulder with her gloved hand, but something under her fingertips squelched so she pulled back quickly.

“Not you, Corvo. Just- anything that wasn’t you.” Corvo huffed, a sound almost shaped like a laugh, and turned to face them now that he was in the main hall, the bottom of his cloak ruffling slightly at the clangs of the tallboy’s just outside. Wallace wondered if the man knew what had happened, although that seemed unlikely unless he was in on in it in the first place.

“What’s happened, then?” He asked, and Wallace sighed heavily. So he hadn’t known. Cecelia stepped forward from behind Wallace, a breeze against his side, and offered to take Corvo’s mask from his hand. He gave it to her, seemingly incredibly grateful that he was able to get it away from him. She placed it on the cupboard next to her and turned back to him, one arm tucked under her side, itching at the space just below her ribs.

“Well, I only just heard about it this morning from Lydia, but we were told to come for our bonuses by Pendleton, but Wallace had told me earlier that I wouldn’t be getting anything,” Lydia stood on Wallace’s foot at that, and he struggled not to let out a gasp, “I began to go about my duties, whilst they talked in the bar for a moment before going to leave, and at that point I left to empty the bins. I turn away from the bin to find Wallace vomiting in the street, his eyes glazed over, and Lydia sitting at the stairs, saying that he wasn’t listening to anything she was saying,” Wallace flushed when Corvo looked over at him. He hadn’t heard what had happened from another point of view, and now his valiant effort to save Lydia and Cecelia from certain death was becoming quite embarrassing for him. To think, the first time he had vomited in front of anyone- apart from that time with Treavor that he didn’t think he could think about in this situation- and he couldn’t remember it, “I took them into this apartment, and now, well, you’re here.” Cecelia rubbed the back of her neck with a hand, and Corvo nodded, curt and solid.

Wallace always appreciated how honest Corvo was, he liked a story and an honest one at that, and he applied his own nature to the way he thanked the person sharing. The man was tense and apathetic on one hand, yet on the other he was the type of man to come back from the missions he was sent on with a bagful of elixirs, and another bag of food. He was a grounding beacon that Wallace was glad to have around.

“Okay.” Corvo mumbled, and stepped into the bedroom to rake through the books on the shelves.

Wallace watched the others as they went back to their business, with Cecelia deciding to open a tin of eels for her and Lydia to eat. Wallace had to turn away at the sight of them. He had eaten the eels before, but he would usually cut and eat them on a slice of bread.

“Wallace?” Lydia offered one out to him, and he gagged at the ghastly, headless eel in front of him.

“No, no, please. I’m fine.” He flinched at the clang of a pot as Corvo came back out from the room, snatching the eel from Lydia’s hand and shoving it unceremoniously into his mouth.

“I’m starving.” He choked out through the mouthful, and went to the front room to uncork the elixir on the table and throw back the red, stinging warm liquid. Wallace and the other two looked on in silent discomfort, before Cecelia looked back down at the eel she was currently taking chunks out of, shrugged, and took another bite.

“What are you going to do, Corvo?” Lydia asked after the tub of eels had been finished off and Wallace was thoroughly disgusted. Corvo shrugged, taking both keys off of their respected hooks and throwing them in a heavy palm, before tucking them into one of the pouches on his belt. He picked up his mask and slipped it back on over his face.

“Leave. Confront Havelock, Martin, Pendleton,” He began to take the chair away from underneath the handle, and Wallace’s back went ramrod straight at the mere mention of the man’s name, “Find Emily.” He growled under his breath, before he took the chair away from the door and in the second it took him to place it on the ground behind him and turn back, Wallace had barricaded himself between Corvo and the door.

“Don't hurt him.” He whispered, his back pressed tight against the metal, his arms clenched across his chest. Corvo took a step back, cocking his head to one side.

“What?”

“Do-Don’t hurt him. Please. Corvo, please.” He was begging, like a spoiled child, and he desperately tried not to make eye contact with either Lydia or Cecelia who were both staring at him, eyes wide, mouths agape.

“What?” He asked again, and Wallace felt his knees almost give way. Much like Corvo, he wasn’t a wordsmith. Although, he assumed Corvo’s selective mutism was due in part to his treatment at Coldridge, whereas Wallace was just uneducated and hid his stumbling tongue under eloquence.

“Treavor. Don’t hurt My Lord. Please.”

“ _Wallace, get out the damn way._ ” He heard Lydia hiss, and he was glad his hands were hidden against his chest, as he was sure they were shaking again. Corvo stepped forward, over his initial shock, and peered up at Wallace through that mask. The expression, one that was usually null and void, was now that of curiosity, although Wallace was sure there were no changes in the physical design of the mask.

“Why?” The question was loaded. It could have meant a million things, though Wallace knew which one it was. _Why are you so loyal to him?_

His loyalty, something he held close to his heart, was given away sparingly. He hardly trusted Havelock or Martin before their ultimate betrayal, and the servants he believed could be trusted, but he wouldn’t risk his life for them. He wouldn’t put his future on the line just to keep them from harm. But Treavor. _Treavor._

“Because I was instructed to prot-” He began to mumble.

“No, why really? The truth.”

“I-I-I don’t know...what you mean.” He pressed his back ever further against the door. Lydia was speaking now, alongside Corvo, but he couldn’t hear anything. His mind was far away, and in that moment he looked over at Cecelia, who had her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, and empathy, and a whole host of other emotions that Wallace just couldn’t figure out.

“Why?” He heard her speak as Lydia’s monologue ended, and Corvo had finished staring deep within his soul, and he felt his heart fall to his stomach as his composure tensed and he let out a cry of,

“ _Because I love-.”_ as quickly as he had took the breath in to do so. Corvo took a step back again, the whole room flooded again in the thick, stale air that was choking Wallace- _Coward. Heretic. Coward. Heretic_ \- and he waited for someone, anyone, to reply.

Corvo reached out a hand, and for a second Wallace thought he was going to strike him- _You deserve it. You deserve it. You deserve it-_ but instead he laid a hand on his shoulder and the mask lost the curiosity, left only with the eerie neutralness that Wallace had never been so glad to see.

“Okay.” He said, soft and calm, and Wallace felt another wall crack beneath his skin, the hand on his shoulder the first boulder hurled at his stone barricades.

He dragged Wallace forward by the shoulder, until the man wasn’t blocking the door anymore, and he unlocked it whilst Lydia and Cecelia stood on in silence,

“I will be back. Don’t leave. Bye.” Corvo mumbled beyond the mask before he opened the door and slipped out, locking it again behind him, the click deafening in the silence. Wallace waited until the click had stopped echoing, before he turned away from Lydia and Cecelia, who he knew were looking at him by the way their stares burned into his cheek, and darted into the bedroom, hoping that despite the lack of door, he wouldn’t be disturbed.

When Corvo returned, the sound of tallboys no longer cracking at the pavement outside the pub, Wallace had scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his shirt enough times that he was no longer bothered by the red of his eyes and face. He just wanted to turn back time, all the way back, perhaps to refuse Treavor’s request for him to pack and travel with him to the Hound Pits, or perhaps further back. He should have pushed Treavor away, refused to bask in the glory of being his Lord’s Manservant, grimaced instead of sighing at the press of lips. Look where it had got him.  

**Author's Note:**

> this didnt turn out the way i wanted it to tbh but!!! nevertheless ima post it. i hope you enjoy! please do tell me if there r any errors again, and thank you sososo much for all the comments and kudos on the first part of this my lil dumbass is dyin for y'all


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